


TinkerTroubles

by razielim



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Come Inflation, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21938968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razielim/pseuds/razielim
Summary: Crafting magical artifacts is more complex than knowing the right rituals and incantations. Often, it involves summoning and binding spirits, some friendly, some less so. In any case, much can go wrong when binding such volatile magic to material implements, no matter how well-prepared you are. Ethari learns the hard way not to let his confidence get the best of him and to treat each new project with caution.
Relationships: Ethari/Other Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	TinkerTroubles

**Author's Note:**

> "Gabriel," you might say, "this is, uh... a very _minute_ Smutmas this year - only one fic? What gives?" 
> 
> You might also say, "Wow, this sounds like you were verbally constipated while writing. Did you forget how to words? Did you even read what you wrote? Was this at _all_ beta'd?"
> 
> To which I say, "Kids, don't fucking drop heavy ceramic objects on your head and get brain injuries. Verbal processing is painful, makes me dizzy and nauseous, and for some reason, even just trying to find one occasional tip-of-the-tongue word in the depths of my squishy brain folds makes me very irritated. The kind of irritated you get when you're gross and haven't had a shower in a couple days and there's a pea under your mattress and sand in your underwear and the world is just fucking relentless. I did the best I could."
> 
> The good news is that while verbal processing still sucks, I've been more or less been able to **paint** again since the start of December? ??? Brains are weird? I'm so fucking grateful, tho. Just fucking... good god. I tried not to be scared of the future, but I was. So anyway any new gross porn (or pastoral centaur scenes) I paint will be stuck up on [my PiFo](https://www.pillowfort.social/razielim/tagged/Gabriel%20paints%20a%20lot). Hope you like Edward Elric getting spitroasted by chimeras bc that's been a big obsession for me lately. You're welcome.
> 
> On that note, I'm again exhausted from typing things, here's your regularly scheduled annual Bad Wrong Christmas Fodder.

Ethari hummed as he worked, carefully painting the moon runes onto the wax plate. He’d had a lot of work the past couple years and his awkward post-apprenticeship hand had firmed up to confident markmaking. After the passing of his mentor, he had been chosen above all others to be the High Mage for all traditional artifacts that needed crafting. This was the first captain’s cuff he had had the honor of making, but he’d worked on several models of the real thing in the week prior, anticipating the order once the elf in question had been promoted.

The last run placed, he carefully rinsed his brush off in solution, eyeing the wax disc for any imperfections. Happy with his craftsmanship, he cleared his space and his mind. He took the freshly forged ceremonial cuff in one hand, careful not to disturb its painted runes, and lit a long cedar splinter from a tall candle at the center of his altar. 

He took a deep breath and lit the wick at the center of the spell disk.

The wick lit reluctantly, and Ethari held his breath as he waited for the flame to properly take hold. The flame jumped to life and the light swelled. The wick filled the room with intense fragrance, earthy and floral, overpowering the workshop’s usual woody aroma.

Then the spell caught.

Ethari’s eyes snapped shut and he wrinkled his nose. Squinting and blinking, he peered down at the runes as they started to swirl across the disc, dimming from a blinding white to a blazing pale lavender. New shapes started to form — half distinguishable words, a beautiful face, then the same runes that were painted onto the cuff Ethari held in his left hand.

The cuff picked up the glow, merrily glinting in Ethari’s hands as though studded with tiny windows that spilled moonlight across his palm.

Just as Ethari had started to smile at a job well done, the cuff’s light was extinguished. He frowned and restrained the urge to give it a good shake, staring at it intently as though he could get the magic back on track with sheer authority.

But the disk had started to glow blindingly again and Ethari had no choice but to step quickly away, unsure what possible blowback could be happening. Failed spells fizzled out, they didn’t typically misdirect.

A hand reached out of the disk, lilac and shimmering with moonlight. Then in pressed to the desk and leveraging against it, a whole elf began to emerge from the glowing circle where the wax disk had been. He had the face that Ethari had seen in the runes, the spirit of the ancestor that he had intended to bind to the cuff to bless the new assassin captain. Powerfully built with large horns the likes of which were rarely seen, he stepped off the workbench with the lightness of a specter but the confidence of a king. He stretched luxuriously and at length as the glow behind him died down and he became the brightest source of light in the room.

Finally dropping his arms and snapping his mouth shut after a massive yawn, his eyes settled on Ethari. He glanced around the rest of the room and finding it uninteresting, stepped forward and reaching for the elf who was, even as he stepped back, running through every possible solution to accidentally manifesting a spirit outside of a binding.

The spirit touched Ethari’s face, first brushing his cheek with the backs of his fingers, then taking hold of his jaw imperiously. Turning Ethari’s head this way and that, he smiled as though he approved. 

Ethari smiled back, then raised his right hand and spoke a spell, using his own body as a conduit to move the spirit to the cuff it was meant for. The glow of the ancestor’s body increased and the cuff suddenly shone so brightly it warmed in Ethari’s hand, but nothing else happened. The spirit’s smile turned lopsided and with fond and amused eyes, he wrestled the cuff from Ethari’s hand and threw it over his shoulder.

Meaning to extract himself, Ethari pushed away, but found himself pressed to the corned behind him, uncomfortably squeezed on either side by the two walls. The room was blocked from view by moonlight and he realized he was being kissed. A jolt ran through him as he realized he was slipping into a panic and worse, was likely overpowered by the ancestor before him.

Was the spirit confusing him for someone else? Was it restless and lonely after its time in the afterlife and seeking comfort from a living being.

Had the spirit been a mage in his life? Had he been restless in the afterlife? Ethari had never forged a captain’s cuffs before, but he’d handled ancestral and nature spirits before. His mentor had never mentioned spirits rebelling or being caught between the other world and the implement they were to be bound to. His face was pressed firmly from either side by the warrior spirit’s strong grip and he parted his lips obediently, allowing the kiss, hoping to appease and soothe the other elf’s will, though reciprocating it only lukewarmly, worried as he was about the further repercussions of this spirit wandering free in the world of the living.

Running mentally through the workshop’s inventory for any magical items that could be of use, Ethari was fully unprepared to find himself jostled around, strong hands manhandling him to face the wall, pushing him into it. Ethari bucked, kicking back, feeling oddly betrayed that he had humored the spirit and it had still lashed out with violence.

He soon found that he wasn’t actually being attacked and nothing was causing pain aside from the discomfort of being pushed into the corner with all the spirit’s strength. A large hand was tugging idly at the laces of his breeches, and Ethari groaned, understanding where this was going. He wriggled his left arm from between himself and the wall where he had used it to brace himself for the impact, he tightly gripped the hem of his pants and held them up as the ancestor attempted to disrobe him.

Undeterred, though clearly strong enough to overpower Ethari if he had wished to, the spirit pressed his hand against Ethari’s bottom and pushed his fingers straight through the fabric of the trousers as if they were not there. Ethari hissed and stamped his feet as he felt the warm spectral fingers pressed against his flesh, kneading, spreading, rubbing. He tried to rise on his tiptoes to push away, but the spirit pressed hard on the small of his back and he was trapped in place, standing on his toes, and teasing fingers finding their way into him, thick and warm, yet immaterial and sparkling and sending shivers up Ethari’s spine.

Despite the rough and impatient treatment, as well as Ethari’s embarrassment at someone taking such liberties, the intrusion didn’t hurt.

He heard a warm chuckle against his ear and the ghost of humid breath blew across his flushed cheek. The spirit said something in a deep voice, but the voice came as if through water, oddly echoing and faint. Then it hooked its fingers and pulled up and Ethari’s spine was forced to arch, the toes of his boots leaving the ground. The spirit said something else and stepped away, pulling its hands off Ethari’s body. To Ethari’s sudden horror, his body remained arched exactly were it was, levitating just above the ground, pressed uncomfortably into the wooden walls, and, most unsettlingly, his hole still open as wide as it had been with the spirit’s fingers inside.

Ethari’s breeches were pulled down, out of his frozen grasp, and left to pool around his knees as the warm touch of the spirit’s palms smoothed back up Ethari’s shaking thighs. Punctuation them with curses, Ethari muttered every repelling, freezing, confounding incantation he could think of, but though magic shifted through the air between them, the low-grade spells passed through the spirit as though there was nothing there.

Two fingers returned to his hole as though they owned it and pulled up tighter, arching Ethari’s back until it hurt, and stretching his legs taught as though his ankles were anchored to one point in space. There was a light smack to his left buttock, and Ethari grumbled at the indignity, and received a chuckle in return.

Pulling his fingers back out, the spirit trailed them down and tugged at Ethari’s scrotum, pinching his thigh playfully but painfully along the way.

Ethari breathed deeply to calm himself as the inevitable came to pass and he felt a large warm cock press against him, trailing magic that made him shiver. The stretch was intense and strange in how different it left from slick and hot real flesh, and Ethari’s face burned at the spirit’s amused laughter.

Ethari’s balls were left in peace as strong fingers grabbed hold of his hips, thumbs pulling his ass open with bruising callousness. With Ethari’s body pinned in place, the spirit fucked him at leisure, not hurrying in the least and letting Ethari feel every electrifying drag of the spectral cock in uncomfortable detail. As Ethari bent all his will to attempting to squirm off, the strokes seemed to slow down until his ancestor was doing nothing more than luxuriously grinding into him.

An odd sensation drew Ethari’s attention. His stomach was aching and bloated, and as he desperately examined the sensation, unable to look down, his entire abdomen started to hurt as though the skin was being pushed on and stretched from inside. He felt the walls brush his stomach and then felt the grain of the wood press against him firmly as he inflated further.

There echoed a loud gurgle of complaint from his insides, and then he felt queasy.

Ethari clenched his teeth, determined not to throw up, and then jerked in alarm as his limbs unfroze and he found himself sinking more firmly onto the cock inside him, kicking in rebellion and pushing off from the wall. 

The spirit stepped back, easily carrying Ethari, and moved his hands to caress Ethari’s belly, at which Ethari felt ever more nauseated. He glanced down, saw his unnaturally stuffed and glowing abdomen, saw it  _ squirm _ , and threw up.

To his surprise, nothing came up.

Instead, there was movement in his throat, shimmering energy, and a skinny tendril of moonlight shot out of his lips. As he stared at it, cross-eyed, half aware of being set down on his hands and knees on the rug in the center of his workshop, it grew in width, pulsing with magic, until it was the thickness and shape of a cock. 

His throat continued to work as though trying to throw up but it had no effect on the magic cock in either direction. It pulsed forward lightly, in time with the spirit’s grinding, which was now pressing Ethari firmly into the rug, causing his cock and the front of his thighs to chafe uncomfortably against it.

The spirit sped up his thrusting and the cock protruding from Ethari’s mouth moved through his throat in time, until Ethari was completely consumed by his retching reflex and dry heaved desperately at the same time as the rim of his asshole protested the onslaught.

Finally, the elf behind him shook with release, his moan coming in odd echoes.

The cock retracted somewhat, pulling back into Ethari’s mouth, his throat, and Ethari was about to thank his luck that it was over when his whole mouth was filled with bitter effervescent fluid which came pouring out over his lips in streams of shimmering moonlight, making him gag harder. Then, with a sudden unpleasant twinge of pain and the pressure of blocked sinuses, it started to drip out of his nose.

As the pour from his mouth seemed to slow, Ethari felt an unpleasant fullness and a soreness like heartburn. Then that too seemed to lessen as he vomited up the spirit’s release, and instead his abdomen felt like it was being inflated even further.

Ethari buried his head in his hands and groaned in protest as the cock inside him both retracted and eased the discomfort and filled him with more fluid, adding to his soreness and embarrassment.

Finally,  _ finally _ , the spirit of the ancestor rolled off of his with a contented chuckle.

Ethari looked over at him and happened to see the cuff on the floor right next to one of the spirit’s elegant horns. 

Moving awkwardly with his inflated belly, he snatched it off the ground and slipped it onto the spirit’s wrist before the other could protest, chanting a binding into being as he drew a rune in the air between them.

The spirit watched this all sleepily and didn’t move to stop him, yawning contentedly.

As the spell took hold and the cuff and spirit began to glow, the spirit sat up abruptly and forced his mouth to Ethari’s in a bruising kiss one last time.

Then he was gone and Ethari was left alone with the cuff, its painted runes losing their glow and slowly disappearing, leaving behind only the decorative engravings.

Too tired to move, Ethari slipped into unconsciousness.

✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

“Not like you to sleep during the workday, love.”

Ethari blinked his eyes open to find Runaan crouched above him, looking incredibly amused.

Ethari sat up, supremely embarrassed at being caught in such a state… and found that his stomach was perfectly normal, his pants were up around his hips and laced up. He looked wildly around and found none of the glowing come that he had thrown up or felt leaking from his ass.

“Strange dreams, Ethari?”

Ethari looked back up at Runaan.

“Y-yes,” he managed, though his throat felt raw. “I can’t seem to tell which parts of it were real.”

“Ah. I think you’ve been locked away in your workshop with strange magic runes for far too long today. Come, walk with me through the forest and clear your head of illusions,” Runaan said softly and offered his hand, pulling Ethari up off the floor.

Ethari looked down at his other hand that he held clenched and found the cuff digging into his skin, leaving marks where the decorations were. He whipped it behind his back.

“I need to hide this,” he quickly said in explanation and Runaan made to peer curiously around him. “It’s bad luck for you to see it before it’s presented to you at the ceremony.”

“Oh!” Runaan flushed with pride at the reminder of his recent promotion. “I will wait outside then.”

Ethari smiled fondly and kissed him before pushing him along.

When the door closed, he peered at the cuff, looking for anything odd and finding nothing. He moved to his altar and picked up the silk he had prepared to wrap the gift, wrapping it carefully and tying off with the traditional ribbon. He set it on the counter of finished work and went back to the counter to dispose of the wax disk.

He froze. There, in the same ink that had been painted runes earlier, was a finely detailed image of him, pinned into the corner of his workshop with his bottom perked up wantonly, his pants down, and his hole dark but clearly clearly propped open with magic.

Ethari picked it up gingerly, wondering how the ink which was supposed to have stayed in the shape of the final runes, was affected by his dreams.

Still.

He couldn’t leave something so obscene and private lying around.

Ethari walked to the fireplace, still gazing at the wax whose image only seemed more life-like as it was backlit by the fire. He paused, suddenly feeling queasy. A coughing fit seized him, filling his mouth with phlegm, then more liquid, and he braced himself on the mantelpiece as the coughing made him swoon dizzily, more liquid coming out, dribbling out onto the wax disk he held in front of him in long strands of… moonlight.

Catching his breath, Ethari froze, staring at the liquid.

It had landed right where his bottom was painted, and as it rolled down the surface of the disk, appeared to ooze from his open hole.

He spit the rest of the fluid in his mouth onto the disk and found that it too glowed and shimmered with magic.

Then he threw the disk in the fire with a frightened jerk of his hand, watching with wide eyes as it melted out of sight, throwing up clouds of sparkles.

Dream or not… 

He had to be more careful when dealing with ancestors from now on.


End file.
